


sometime around midnight

by celestialfics



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Ambiguity, Canon Divergence, Light Angst, Nonbinary Kurapika, Other, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10388070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfics/pseuds/celestialfics
Summary: Most nights, Kurapika’s mind is too quiet.Their phone rings and it rings, as if it’s destined only to ring and never be answered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a bit of canon divergence from the dark continent arc...! this has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for months and today i finally found the will to finish it up! title's from "sometime around midnight" by the airborne toxic event
> 
> pika's nb in this and though its not a plot point, they use they/them pronouns !!
> 
> hope you'll enjoy... <3

Most nights, Kurapika’s mind is too quiet.

Their phone rings and it rings, as if it’s destined only to ring and never be answered. They stare and stare and stare, but never make the move to pick up the phone and cease its ringing. But Leorio’s only worried, after all. An answer would soothe his surely heightened nerves, and still, Kurapika watches as the screen of their phone lights up and then turns off.

When the ringing stops, the silence is deafening. Only for a moment, though, before it rings again. Kurapika stares.

Leorio gives up after five calls, but he’ll surely call again the next day. It’s like a routine that Leorio doesn’t know they share, and something about that makes Kurapika’s chest feel readily collapsible. He leaves messages that Kurapika never dares to play.

He—Leorio doesn’t deserve the kind of treatment that Kurapika gives him. But a part of Kurapika is curious, awaiting the day Leorio doesn’t call—the day Leorio figures out that all Kurapika will ever be is a lost cause, the day Leorio figures out he deserves something better than whatever _this_ is.

It’s only a matter of time.

And so, after the calls halt for the night, Kurapika stares at Leorio’s contact name. They stare and stare and stare.

—

Other nights, Kurapika’s mind is far too loud.

People scream and cry and burn. Others—stronger, harsher, _evil_ —kill and laugh and kill.

Kurapika stares. Their phone rings, but they don’t hear it. They hear shrieks and horrors and butchering. They hear the fateful night that they missed.

The phone rings again. It sits nestled right in Kurapika’s hands, and yet they still don’t notice how it trills. They stare and stare and stare at the rows of scarlet eyes in front of them until their own eyes sink into a deep crimson.

Again, the phone sounds. And after that, again. Thrice more, and it ceases for the night.

Kurapika stares, but they don’t see what sprawls before them. Instead, they see fields of bodies, bodies that once held souls that Kurapika loved—souls that Kurapika couldn’t save. Souls that Kurapika _can’t_ save. Souls that they now devote their own life to honor.

—

Some nights, Kurapika ponders answering.

It’s the third call of the night, and the screen of Kurapika’s phone lights up the ceiling that they stare up at, lying flat on their back in bed. They count the seconds that the phone rings—twenty seconds—and they count the seconds between calls—forty seconds.

Kurapika ponders answering just to tell Leorio to stop. To give up. To find a pretty girl or to do something more productive than repeatedly calling someone he knows won’t answer. But they won’t—won’t tell Leorio to stop. They won’t answer. Because if Leorio were really to stop calling…

Kurapika shakes their head.

It’s no use to think about the hypotheticals. They’ll let Leorio figure this out on his own.

—

On rare nights, Senritsu visits.

She looks disapprovingly at Kurapika when the phone starts to ring. She’s already told Kurapika time and time again what their heart does when the phone begins to ring.

_It’s odd_ , she’d first said. _It’s almost like the beating just... stops_. _But not quite_.

Kurapika hasn’t ever asked for elaboration. It’s less so that they don’t care what that means and more so that they don’t _want_ to know. Ignorance is bliss, some say. Kurapika isn’t sure that they’re part of that _some_. Maybe they are.

Kurapika clicks their phone to silent, ignoring Senritsu’s gaze.

“You should answer him,” she says, as if she hasn’t said this a dozen times before and as if Kurapika hasn’t disagreed every one of those times.

“He stopped leaving messages awhile ago. He’ll stop calling soon,” Kurapika replies, though they don’t believe their own words. It’s no use to lie to Senritsu, they know, but they lie anyway.

“He cares about you. The least you can do—”

“The least I can do is leave him out of this,” Kurapika speaks, taut and final.

Senritsu blinks and swallows thickly, but leaves Kurapika’s words to hang heavily in the air, like apples too ripe for picking. They soon fall to the ground with resounding _thumps_.

And though Senritsu doesn’t open her mouth to voice her response, her eyes very clearly say _I know you don’t_ really _believe that_.

But what does anyone know.

—

On even rarer nights, Kurapika leaves their phone at home.

They have no need for it when they’ve found a keeper of scarlet eyes.

—

One night, there are no calls.

It’s morning when Kurapika thinks, _Oh_ , like someone’s struck a bell in their head. It reverberates around their skull, and they stare and stare at Leorio’s contact information.

The call button stands out, green and bright compared to the rest of the screen. They stare at the button. If they were to call, would Leorio not answer? Has he found a better use of his time?

Is he… okay?

Kurapika’s finger twitches where they hold it above the screen, just hovering over the call button. If Leorio’s hurt, then…

Kurapika blinks, and turns their phone off. Leorio’s _fine_. He’s just finally realized that there are better things to do than shout to someone who won’t answer.

But Kurapika can’t help but to worry. It’s selfish to worry, they know. As if it’s so unbelievable that Leorio wouldn’t call them that he must be incapacitated. Kurapika almost laughs at themself for being so pathetic.

—

That night, though, Kurapika decides that they’ll call. They’ll call and maybe it’ll be unwelcome, maybe it won’t be answered, maybe it’ll seal the end to whatever this is that Kurapika and Leorio share.

Though Kurapika forgot to remind themself that Leorio is not the same as they are.

They gnaw at the inside of their cheek as the phone rings once, twice, and then the line clicks. It’s just ambient noise for a moment, and then, tentative and careful, “Kurapika?”

Kurapika doesn’t speak. There’s a thin pane of glass that stands between them, thin enough that any words to come out of Kurapika’s mouth would shatter it. And Kurapika doesn’t want Leorio to cut himself on any of the shards.

“If it’s really you, then…” Leorio pauses, and for just a few moments, the line goes quiet.

Kurapika holds their breath in anticipation. Leorio’s not one to—

“What the hell are you thinking?!” Leorio yells, “If I knew where you were, I’d nen-punch you right in the face like I did to Gon’s dad—don’t think I wouldn’t!”

Kurapika’s jaw drops, and somehow Leorio’s shattered the glass pane himself.

“We’re all worried about you! You know that! You know that and you still don’t answer!” Leorio continues, and as soon as Kurapika’s over their shock, something about this strikes them as hilarious.

So, it starts with a chuckle—just a bit of laughter that escapes Kurapika’s facade. But after that, there’s no way for Kurapika to stop the rest of the laughter that pours out from their chest, like Leorio’s somehow taken a cork out of Kurapika’s throat.

“And you think this is funny!” Leorio says, and Kurapika laughs harder.

Objectively, this isn’t funny. This shouldn’t be funny. This _isn’t_ funny. But Kurapika laughs anyway, and it’s not too long after that, instead of yelling, Leorio chuckles into the receiver.

“This isn’t funny,” Kurapika says, then, their laughter diminishing in a second. “That was so—I’m… so sorry. I—”

Leorio cuts them off. “I’m glad to hear you laugh. Even if this isn’t funny.”

Kurapika blinks, and no words come to them. But Leorio’s always been the talker.

“Are you doing… okay?” Leorio asks cautiously, like he’s not past the possibility of Kurapika hanging up at any moment.

“I’m…” Kurapika trails. A more pressing issue pops into their mind, so they disregard Leorio’s inquiry. “Why didn’t you call yesterday?”

“Oh, uh—I accidentally dropped my phone in a puddle. It was soaking in rice.”

“Oh,” Kurapika says, almost disappointed. ( _This_ is funny, and yet now, they don’t laugh.) “That’s very… _you_.”

“You don’t have to right to be sassy,” Leorio states, “until you say you’ll let me see you.”

Kurapika doesn’t make a move to respond. Their heart’s promptly fallen to the pit of their stomach.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” Leorio adds, “It doesn’t have to be soon. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be _true_. Just say you will.”

Kurapika swallows thickly. “Okay,” they give.

The line is quiet, awaiting.

“You can see me,” Kurapika says. “I don’t know when.”

“And will you answer my calls?”

“I will.”

—

These nights, nights when Kurapika’s done all they can to push the screaming and bloodshed to the back of their mind for a few hours, nights when Kurapika’s sprawled across their couch with their phone tucked in the crook of their neck, pressed between their cheek and their shoulder, things almost seem normal.

Leorio likes to tell stories. Kurapika likes to listen; they’ve missed a lot. Though when Leorio runs out of things to say, neither of them hang up. Sometimes, just knowing that Leorio’s there is nice.

They haven’t seen each other again, but they call most nights that Kurapika can handle it. It’s almost normal—the closest to normal that Kurapika thinks they can bear.

Even so, even now, as Kurapika chuckles softly into the receiver at something Leorio’s said, they still can’t be sure that they’d made a mistake in the past, with never answering.

Kurapika’s never sure of anything besides the one thing they’re always sure of—revenge for their clan. So feelings like these—softer feelings, warmer feelings—that they harbor for Leorio in the pit of their chest tangle and twist around their ribs, securing themselves like vines that Kurapika doesn’t have a clipper to cut them with. They’re not sure they would want to clip them, anyway.

For now, they grow.   


End file.
